Winter
by Julia Claire
Summary: He was like the winter, but then, so was she. Pansy ponders her relationship with Draco. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine.**

**A/N: Written for the Winter Competition at the Hogwarts Online Forum. The prompts that needed to be used were cloak, ice, hot chocolate, regret, and "Never again!"**

Winter

She'd only been outside for five minutes, but already her face felt raw from the wind, and her gloveless hands were red. As the snow fell softly in the fading light, she thought how very pretty it was. Someone had once told her that snowflakes were all unique, that every single one was different. She wondered how they managed that, then shook herself – like _snow_ could think, could feel.

She hoped that no one was watching her - then realised that even if they could see the figure hunched against the castle wall, no one would recognize her. Why would _Pansy Parkinson _ever sit outside _alone_ in the _cold_?

Sighing, she tried to come up with an answer to that herself. Like always, looking back, it was a blur. She'd been sitting in the common room, talking to Daphne (mostly because she wanted to figure out how to copy the way she did her makeup) when Draco had entered the common room, wearing the smirking that made her shiver inside.

"Pansy," he'd said – and then she was _gone_, too enamored with him to think clearly. He said her name so beautifully, like she was more than just some stupid flower. All the other girls in the room had eyed her enviously, and she felt as if she was floating.

Then they were up in his dormitory (who ever thought girls were trustworthy?), up against each other, his flawless lips on her slightly chapped ones, kissing and kissing, and Pansy remembered thinking how much she loved him, how stupid she had been before, doubting him.

He was perfect, she thought now, like winter, like the snowflakes that fell in the darkness, like the ice that froze over the lake, like the wind that made her feel so exhilarated. Winter was her favourite season... but then, why did she feel so cold?

She didn't know exactly how long exactly their kisses lasted; her memory simply skipped to the _afterward_, when they had separated, still breathing hard. He'd snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared (how he managed to do that, she had no idea), and the next thing she knew, he was holding two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. He'd handed her one, and she'd taken it, nearly burning herself. In her mind, she conjured a picture of the two of them, clinking the china together before taking sips, side by side, talking and laughing. Her heart swelled in a way it hadn't the entire time they'd been kissing...

And then, suddenly, he was gone. She'd tried to follow him, had run down to the common room, but all she got was the sight of his cloak whipping out of sight, the pitying stares of her fellow Slytherins, the conspicuous absence of Daphne.

Almost unconsciously, Pansy stretched out her fingers in the wind, trying to grab hold of it… but it was there one moment and gone the next, impossible to hold onto. Like he was.

She'd run back up the steps even faster than she had come down them, smiling so hard it hurt, refusing to cry (like nothing was wrong because it _wasn't_). Even when she reached his dormitory again, she kept her face dry, instead picking up the now lukewarm mug of hot chocolate and trying to drink it, as if she could bring him back by doing so. Her hands were shaking so badly, however, that she never even took a sip, instead dropping it to the floor, where it shattered, spilling all over Draco's pristine polar bear fur rug, the one his father had paid buckets of money for.

Pansy was actually shivering now; her teeth were banging together as they chattered. Her whole body ached, but still, she didn't move, transfixed by the beautiful snowflakes.

She'd stared at that dark brown stain for a long time, watching as it slowly spread across the carpet, all the while thinking that she should fix it, should clean it up, but not moving at all. She had a strange desire to have some small revenge, to ruin his stupid rug, and had nearly begun to laugh when she realized that he could fix this with a wave of his wand, but nothing could fix her.

And that, she supposed, was why she'd run outside, why she was here she was still, thinking about how much she loved the winter as it froze her to death.

He didn't love her – she knew that, even if she always pretended otherwise. She was pretty, rich, a good kisser - but not enough, never enough, no matter what.

The snowflakes weren't so beautiful up close, she decided, once they fell into her lap and mashed all together, no longer distinct. Like him. Like _her._

She wasn't even sure if what she felt for him was love, or just her own messed-up version of it. Pansy tried, for a moment, to imagine her life without him, a life without his glamour or kisses, a life without disappointment and disappearances.

"Never again!" she whispered, trying on the words, but they were weak and defeated, lost on the wind, which was just as well, because she knew she didn't mean them.

Maybe she loved him and maybe she didn't, but the one thing Pansy knew was that she needed him - to make her special, to make her _something_.

(She'd be nothing if she wasn't _his_.)

At last, she turned to go inside, wiping away the frozen tears, telling herself that she didn't regret it - and hell, her whole life was a lie, so what did one more matter?


End file.
